


What We Deserve

by TempestRising



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Niall, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly friendship, niall just needs a hug okay, relationship if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestRising/pseuds/TempestRising
Summary: It doesn't mean anything. A punch here. A shove there. It's not like any of his band mates mean to hurt Niall. It's just that he's the one who stands there and takes it.Or: Four times the other members of One Direction hit Niall (three times they didn't mean to and one time they did)





	

  
_"Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for."_

Bob Marley

.***.

**1**

They were at an after party at a club the first time one of the boys rounded on Niall in anger. Niall would admit to anyone who asked that he proudly lived up to Irish stereotypes. Whenever they went out he was the first one at the bar, but he could also hold his liquor better than the others. Liam became reckless, Zayn moody, Harry an insatiable flirt, and Louis - well, Louis didn't drink all that often, plagued by bad hangovers, but when he did his usual sarcasm became pointed, his temper hot-pan.

Usually, by some pact dreamed up long ago, Liam watched over Louis and Niall tag teamed Harry and Zayn. But tonight Liam was battling a cold and Perrie had flown in for twenty-four hours with Zayn and Harry had found a girl early and was in some shadowy corner or secret room with her, so Niall was chatting with Josh, who actually managed to get out of the hotel during the day, the musicians spending time between rehearsal and show actually seeing the world, and he was listening to a story about a scrap a week before under the leaning tower of Pisa when Louis slipped out a side door. Niall made his excuses and followed.

They were somewhere in the middle of Europe and the streets were empty and cold after the body-warm bar. There was the loud buzzing even with the plugs. Niall could mentally recalibrate for the life they lived now but his body was behind the times.

He blinked, looked around for Louis, saw him kicking a trashcan. "What'd it do to you, then?" Niall asked, crossing his arms over his chest and breathing out a breath of steam.

"Go away, Niall, really."

There was no point in talking to Louis when his voice was like that, wide open and raw, but he tried anyway. "I'm just saying, there's the headline, one-fifth of One Direction..."

"I don't bloody care," but Louis did, that was the problem, he cared so deeply and everyone knew it. "I - she - it's nearly Christmas - and she -"

It was five days to Christmas and four days to Louis's birthday - they'd been getting audiences to sing to him all week - and three days until they flew home. "She?" Niall asked, thickly, then said, "Eleanor?"

"She called last week - said she wouldn't be home most of Christmas, some bloody ill grandmother - but she'd come here. Tonight. For my birthday."

"And she'd not here."

Louis gave him a look of such cold derision that Niall felt frozen. "Great observation, Ni, bloody brilliant. Apparently there's a blizzard camped over England and no planes are flying out."

"Well, that's not exactly her fault."

"I'm not saying it's her fault!" Louis was too articulate to be drunk, Niall thought, but it was rare to see the eldest cry without a few beers. "I'm just - can't i just be upset that I can't see my girlfriend? That I haven't seen her in months?"

"Maybe she can fly out to us on the other side of break," Niall pointed out, "she'll like Canada. Everyone likes Canada."

Louis blinked at him. "You sound like Liam." Niall tried not to look too pleased, which was easy when Louis said, "must be nice, laughing at the lot of us mucking up our girls for the world to see."

"I'm not laughing," Niall said, looking at his feet. Louis had a tendency to stare into his bones, like he found Niall lacking. "I don't - I know it's -"

"You don't know," Louis was crying, it was all over his voice, "do you?" He began to respond but Louis just snorted. "Nah, mate. Whatever."

Like a slap in the face, Louis's oft-employed "whatever" in that superior tone of "you couldn't possibly understand" even though if anyone understood wasn't it him? Them? Louis took a step towards the door to the bar and Niall slid in front of him.

They were young and they were guys so of course they were constantly wrestling, shoving, slapping. But this was different. The force of the blow knocked Niall into the trashcans, like landing in blocks of ice. Hands scraping. Something sharp skinned his face. He looked up. He couldn't remember being more surprised, thinking even then that this was just another Louis prank, that he'd help Niall up now, that he didn't know his own strength. But the eldest member of their group of lost boys was already gone.

The cut had stopped bleeding by morning but the skin around it was bruised and raw. Liam clucked when he saw him. "We should see the other guy, right?"

Niall accepted the proffered flannel, wiping away the dried blood. He avoided looking at Louis, didn't even know if he'd remember. "Something like that. Cold better than, Payno?"

**2**

The thing is, sometimes Liam just didn't know his own strength.

Once the other boys "corrupted" him, stopped seeing him as a stick-in-the-mud but as a partner in crime, Liam began to love the jokes. Making fun of Harry's hair. Poking Zayn as he tried to sleep. Pouring water all over Louis. Pushing Niall around.

And usually he knew when to stop. With Harry, it was when he frowned, eyes flashing hurt. Zayn's whines turned to brooding. Louis became bitchy. But Niall - Niall just kept laughing.

It started off innocently enough. They were in an interview and Niall laid across the back of the couch, head near Liam's head. And he didn't even think. Just. Pushed. Even as Niall was falling he laughed. And the interviewer and the lads laughed. And Niall popped up like a jack-in-the-box laughing. And Liam felt good. he felt part of the group.

There were so many other times. Pushing Niall off the bed after a movie night. Down the stage steps. Tackling Niall during video shoots. Elbowing him off stage. And then. Before the surgeries and before the crutches and before Niall wearing jeans with holes at the knee, showing off a thick red scar. They were performing. And Liam tackled Niall, like he did all the time, pushing him to the ground.

He knew when he connected that it was a bad idea, Niall twisting wrong at the force of the impact. And Niall didn't yell. Didn't curse. He just made this little noise, like something deep was broken.

Liam got up. He'd done this before, so many times, throwing Niall around the stage now that Liam was getting muscles and Niall stayed small. Because that's how they communicated. Through roughhousing.

Except. Niall's knee buckled when he tried to stand the first time, and it shook when he tried to stand again. Liam watched him and felt something curl up in his chest, taking over the place by his heart. "You okay?" Liam asked, and it was so loud in the arena and his words were so quiet but Niall heard anyway. Shook his head.

The team went crazy in the in-ears. "Niall, you all right?" and the other other boys who hadn't been watching turned to look, to see why Niall wouldn't be all right. "Do you need to stop?"

"No," Niall said, and Liam watching him turn off his ear, ignoring the protestations of their team. And it was the four of them, Liam flanked by Louis and Zayn, Harry at the end, staring at the blond boy as he sang alone on the other side of the stage. One by one they all patted him on the back, Louis flicking his stomach, Harry rubbing his hair, and Liam just stood there,rubbing the back of his neck, realizing that the feeling choking his chest was guilt.

They're five songs from the end and Niall's walking okay. Not great, but there'd be worse days to come, days when Niall would shake from the pain and sit curled over his guitar on stage, when he and Zayn exchanged bunks because of the time Niall jumped from the top and screamed as he landed wrong, screamed so loud the bus swerved. But that was all in the future. Learning how to read Niall's pain level was in the future. Liam didn't know any better, then. He was very young.

After the show, Liam meant to apologize properly. He was always doing stupid things, he thinks, so he's gotten quite good at apologizing. But Niall laughed with Harry and Zayn and he didn't want to spoil the moment.

"He dislocated his knee," Louis said, appearing next to Liam's shoulder. "Ages ago. It's been acting up, I think. He doesn't play footie anymore."

"Why didn't he say?"

Louis shrugged. "He's not one for complaining, is he? And you worry too much. You'd try to fix it. I made him promise to say something if it gets worse. I'm no good with serious pain." Louis made a face, and Liam tried to push down that old feeling that everyone was telling each other secrets behind his back. This wasn't about him.

"I wouldn't have done it if I'd known," Liam said. "I..."

"He knows that!" Louis slung an arm over his shoulder, gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "You're such a softie. Don't tell him I told you, yeah? But now we can both keep an eye on him."

And because keeping an eye on his band mates was something Liam was very good at, he nodded, and when Harry asked who was going out, Niall said he was going to take it easy, and Liam quickly seconded the motion, and Niall raised his eyes and smiled. And Liam smiled back.

**3**

They knew he wasn't happy. Niall just always thought he could change that. Longer breaks. More time to get over the fucking cold that left Zayn sniffling and miserable.

But: "I'm leaving," Zayn had announced. And somehow they all knew he wasn't coming back.

There followed a long conversation where Louis was angry and Harry was confused and Liam was worried. And Niall? Niall was guilty. Down to his bones.

"I have to pack," Zayn said when it was over. Louis snorted. Harry looked near tears, young in a way he hadn't looking in years, and Liam patted his back. And Niall followed Zayn out to the hallway. Into his room. They'd stopped doubling up a while ago.

"I can be gone - I have to be gone tomorrow. I have a ticket."

"Oh." Niall automatically began to help. Unplugging plugs. "Why didn't you talk to us? Before you talked to them? We could have helped?"

"You would have talked me out of it." Zayn looked young, too, or maybe it was that he was sick. Everyone looked little when they were sniffly. "And I would have stayed. I stayed for you guys. I only last this long because of you."

Niall slowly rolled the cords into a neat spiral, staring at the loops upon loops. "Did we do something?"

They were all tired. Started the tour tired. But Niall had been slacking, exhausted beyond belief by the crowds the screams that kept him up at night. He wandered around the hotels and played guitar and played video games with Liam and declined Louis's constant sneaking out and dodged Harry. He'd ignored Zayn. He hadn't meant to but he had.

"I wish," Zayn said, "that I could leave the band but not leave you guys."

"It's not going to be forever," Niall tried, because he had to try. "After this tour we can take a long break. A proper break."

"This is what I'm saying. You're trying to talk me out of it and I've already made up my mind."

Niall knew how Zayn packed, noticed that Zayn had barely gotten unpacked, the process of suitcase laborious after all these years. "Did you even think about us?"

"Of course I did!" Zayn snapped. "But - Liam and Louis are our writers, year? And Harry's the perfect pop star. And everyone loves you, Niall. Everyone. And they all expect the worst of me."

"That's not what I mean," Niall crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not talking about the band."

"But you are! All of this is the band! We only know each other because of the fucking band!" Zayn shook his head. "You know what I keep thinking? How for the rest of our lives we're always tied together because of this. And we're never going to be bigger than we are now. When I die the first line will be 'Member of the Boy Band One Direction'!"

"So why not make it last as long as possible?"

Zayn's accent was thick when he mumbled the reply: "I'm so tired. I'm tired, Ni, no one should feel like this."

"We're all tired!"

"I thought you'd understand," Zayn said, lowering his voice. "It's like with your knee, yeah? You knew you needed surgery. You had to wait, and you were in so much pain. Broke my heart. But you knew what you needed to do to feel better, even though it would hurt more, for a while."

"So you get to hurt us and say it's better this way?" Niall blinked. His throat hurt. Like he'd been screaming. Like there was that lump when you were trying not to cry.

"Get out, Niall. I have to pack."

Niall started forward, hands out, he didn't know what he was going to do but he just wanted to hold Zayn and keep him here because when they were all in one place it would be okay, in the end, because they'd always said they were stronger together, that they couldn't do this without each other. "I'm not going to let you go and make the biggest mistake of your life -!"

He was cut off by Zayn's fist splitting his lip, hard on his cheekbone. And he fell, because he hadn't seen it coming, because they tackled each other and pulled each other's hair but had never, never ever -

Before he could say anything someone was pulling him to his feet, wrapping arms around him, and Niall knew everything about his boys, knew from the feel of the skin that this was Harry. "Are you okay?" Harry reached up to touch his cheek where the fist connected.

But now Niall was looking at Liam, who had slammed Zayn against a wall. and Louis, who had the temper that flared white hot, who had been yelling at Zayn before, Louis was the one pulling Liam off. "This is how it ends, huh?" Louis directed this at Zayn, who looked more startled than anyone. "Our last night and you're going down swinging."

"Niall," Zayn said, and Harry's arms tightened on Niall's shoulders.

Liam tore free of Louis. Pressed a finger into Zayn's chest. "If you hurt one of them again I'll kill you."

The room was silent. Liam, who was endlessly kind and unfailingly polite, who backed everyone up in interviews, bailed them out of their messes. Who loved Zayn with a particular fierceness. Liam was looking at Zayn like he was already a stranger.

Without looking away from Zayn, who was rubbing his throat, still pressed against the wall, Liam said, "you alright, Nialler?"

"'M fine," Niall mumbled, "Li -"

"We'll let you pack," Liam talked over him. "You'll probably be gone before we wake up. So. Goodbye and good luck."

He turned. Louis turned. Harry turned. So Niall had to turn. They were almost at the door when Zayn said, a broken sob. "Guys."

But then the door clicked shut. And it was too late. "Liam, you shouldn't have done that," Niall said softly, stumbling down the hall, Harry's hand still pressed against his back.

Liam's face was a storm. "I had to. I don't care how loud someone yells but no one's allowed to hit you, Nialler. Even your friends. Especially your friends." Liam absentmindedly rubbed his knuckles where the skin had split. "I hate bullies."

Niall's cheek throbbed. He ducked his head. And for perhaps the first time it was four of them piling up into one room, the new four, and it was Niall who trailed behind, the one to shut the door shut and lock it with a snick.

**4**

Anyone who spends any time with Harry knows he's a lover, not a fighter.

He slow talks his way through interviews and aw-shucks interns and lights up like a firefly on stage, and the older they get the more they realize that they've all learned to organize themselves around Harry's light.

But after Zayn leaves they all. Break a little. They have to reorient themselves and it's a learning curve and it's frustrating as hell and on one hand they hold onto each other tighter than every because now there's only three other people on the planet now who know how they feel. And on the other hand they can't stop pushing each other away, Liam and Louis peeling off to write, Niall drifting to hang out with the band, with the friends he makes easy as breathing. And Harry? His skin feels itchy like he'd either going to grow or explode.

They start doing this thing again where they sneak into the venue and talk all night. They haven't done that since X-Factor, when there was so much to learn about each other, when they couldn't believe how well they fit, carving out roles for themselves and settling in. Except now it's not talking about their pasts, it's imagining their futures. There's a light at the end of this tunnel now and Harry honestly doesn't know if it's sunlight or a train.

It's harder to lie out loud and Harry ends up saying things he hasn't even admitted to himself yet. That he doesn't want to sing for a while. That he wasn't sure how to function as an adult without the other three at his side, always at his side. He'd been Harry Styles Member Of One Direction for so long that he wasn't sure he could just be Harry Styles anymore.

"I hear you, mate," Liam says, "but you're going to be Harry Styles Member Of One Direction a lot longer than you think. Look at Paul McCartney."

"Don't compare us to the Beatles, Payno." Louis complains.

"Dunno who else to compare us to, to be honest." Liam's face so open, always so honest, that Harry feels a great rush of affection for him, so sudden it hurt.

Niall's drifting in and out of sleep, head pillowed on Harry's stomach, legs dangling over the edge of the stage. "I wish we could do this forever. But only the nice parts."

Lately there have been so many not-nice parts. Rumors of affairs. Violent mobbing. Reports of their deaths that are almost gleeful. But mostly they're tired, had started the tour tired, and dealing with the aftermath of Zayn leaving was emotionally exhausting. And if they zoned out during interviews, people say the fame got to their heads. If they party to let off steam, they're alcoholics and drug addicts. If they make fun of each other in interviews, their friendship was a facade, there was internal friction, they hate each other's guts.

It's not new. It's just old and wearisome and Harry wants the microscope off of him. Just for a bit. So he can regroup. Get some sleep. He pets Niall's hair. "Forever's a long time."

"This is nice, though." Niall's the other honest one. He and Liam wear their hearts on their sleeves and sometimes Harry doesn't know how it doesn't kill them. "Isn't it?" Niall looks up, pale face like moonlight.

"Nice for you," Harry says without thinking. And the words hang there, and Liam and Louis, leaning against each other near the edge of the stage, look at him. And the pressure under his skin mounts. Pounds behind his eyes. "Must be nice," his voice all wrong for this soft moment, twisted. "No one ever paying attention to you."

He feels Niall tense, but not move from his stomach. Louis snaps, "shut up, Harry, or -"

"Or what?" All the bad that Harry's been feeling since Zayn left, since before that, since the start of this tour, since he was so tired he sees spots everywhere he looks, it all comes out at once and Niall just stared at him, ready to take it. "You'll have to admit that out of the lot of us I get all the shit and Niall gets -"

"Niall!"

Sometime during his yelling Harry had pushed Niall away from him, pushed him off the stage. And - maybe he hadn't been expecting it, Harry usually dangerous only to himself, clumsy and awkward but still so fucking gentle with all his height - but Niall fell. Hard.

Liam scrambled off Louis, off the stage, and from far away Harry could hear him begin to mumble and murmur Niall back to his feet, like it was months ago, years ago, back when Niall dislocated his knee during a show and Liam, lovely Liam, had been the one to stay with him until he could stand again.

Louis's on his feet, staring between the two eight feet below, on the ground, and at Harry.

"Oh, come on," Harry mutters, feeling the flush creep up his neck, the odd slick of guilt and embarrassment under Louis's smolder. "It's not even that far."

The only sound in the too big space was Niall's sharp intake of breath. And Harry had spent so many years with these boys, could identify them by the way they breathed, screamed, sang, laughed. Cried.

From far away he hears Liam comforting, solid Liam. "Hey Ni let's get up and stretch that leg. It's your leg, huh? That damn knee?"

There were a lot of antics on stage but ever since Niall's surgeries they all refrain from tackling him, hitting him too hard, his balance always a hair off. A wrong move would send him into waves of pain, and all of them, Harry included, thought that Niall was too willing to put the band first and his health second. So because Niall can't take care of himself, they all do it for him.

And now - Louis angry in a way he hasn't been in months, since Zayn punched Niall and peaced out, Louis's standing over him, shaking him, and Harry has grown bigger and stronger than his oldest band mate and his hands come up.

They grapple on stage and Harry thinks, meanly, that they wouldn't be going this for anyone else, that Louis and Liam mothered Niall even now, that Niall inspired these feelings of protection in everyone and he, Harry, seemed to inspire the opposite, jealousy and mean-spiritedness and he's right, isn't he, that he has it worse than the others? They all admit it.

"Hey, Niall, hey love, hey, let's go over to the stars, Nialler, you can hold me tighter. I won't break."

And Harry drops his hands, lets Louis pin him to the stage. It's not just Louis and Liam who are protective of Niall, it's Harry, too. "You're such an asshole!" Louis spits, face inches from Harry's.

"I know," Harry says. Sometimes he's surprised by how deep his own voice is.

For a long moment they stay like that, and Harry could almost see the struggle Louis was having about whether or not to punch him. Liam's steady patter of soothing words fade in and out. "One step at a time mate, Jesus, you're gonna knock us both over."

Eventually Louis rolls off of him and they both sit up as Liam and Niall get back on stage, conjoined in the too-familiar stance of propping Niall up, and if Harry hadn't felt guilty before then he does now. "I'm sorry," he says immediately.

But he wasn't the only one, Niall saying, "I'm sorry" at the same time. The Irish boy talks over everyone's protestations. "I am! You do get the worst shit, Haz, and I hate it. We all hate it."

"I shouldn't have pushed you," Harry says. "I don't like hurting people."

"I know."

"Are you okay?" Harry moves forward, Louis right behind him.

"I'm fine! I'm," they all crush together into a hug, Niall in the middle. "Sometimes I worry," Niall says, muffled between them, "about needing more surgery. When it hurts I think - I get trapped."

"We know," Harry said. It would be better if Niall was screaming at him, might help to ease the tight fist of guilt in his chest. "I know."

"Still," Niall said ruefully as they let him go. "I need to stop crying. What an idiot."

No one bothered justifying that with a response. Liam just reached up and thumbed away the tears that dampened Niall's cheek. Later, Harry knew he'd go to Louis and let the oldest boy yell at him, a familiar scene for both of them, years old, and the yelling always turned into the best conversations and advice. Liam, though usually non-confrontational to a fault, would ask him to workout and on a run, staring straight ahead, would tell Harry how much they needed him, how of course he should feel like he could talk about his problems with him but "Harry, you're so good with words" and he, Liam, hated bullies, and Harry if you need to talk...and Harry would feel both guilty and forgiven and tell Liam he should be a therapist, or a father, and that would be that.

And sometime before the next show, Harry would find Niall and curl up against him, hugging the thin Irish boy while he tripped over his apology, words coming fast for once. And Niall, too quick to forgive, would pull him close, and minutes before showtime they'd be found, intertwined.

**Author's Note:**

> For my little sister, who never likes to see the boys hurt but loves when they cuddle, so here you go.


End file.
